


Sunday, Sunday

by Gaby



Category: White Collar
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor, gen with hints of Peter/Neal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 11:31:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6516802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaby/pseuds/Gaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not how Peter imagined to spend his Sunday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday, Sunday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elrhiarhodan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/gifts).



> Written as a birthday pressie for my dearest elrhiarhodan. I'm sorry it's only a short li'l ficlet but it's all I could manage due to health issues, work WTFuckery and technical problems. At least I picked a very special topic...for, uh, _reasons_. I'm sure you'll understand. *g* Anyway, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I hope your day is nice and quiet and full of sunshine. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine, never were, never will be, gosh darn it!

Peter startled awake all of a sudden, sat up and blinked blearily at the alarm clock on the nightstand.

7:15AM

He groaned and let himself fall back. Sunday morning. El was away for the weekend. Peter had planned to sleep in. Instead, something had woken him, and he didn't even know what it was.

A second later, he heard a weird noise and sat up again. He stared at the bedroom window, wondering for a long moment if maybe a bird had flown against it.

Peter got up and walked over to take a closer look. His jaw hit the floor when he realized that the world outside was covered in snow.

"What the hell? Not again! It's April, for crying out loud."

At that moment, something hit the window again, causing Peter to jump back instinctively. Then his eyes narrowed and he stepped up to the window again.

On the sidewalk, right underneath his bedroom window, stood Neal Caffrey, grinning broadly and waving cheerily up at him. Peter narrowed his eyes even more when he saw the snowball in Neal's hand.

"You little son of a gun," he muttered, shaking his finger sternly at Neal.

In response, Neal lobbed the snowball against the bedroom window.

Peter stared as the slushy snow slowly slid down the window pane, turned on his heel and raced down the stairs. When he opened the front door, Neal was already standing there, waiting for him with a big smile on his face.

"Good morning, Peter."

"It's way too early on a Sunday morning, you woke me up and it's snowing. How could this be even remotely good?"

Neal's smile grew impossibly wider. "Because it's snowing. Come on, Peter. This is awesome."

Peter stared at Neal in disbelief. "It's April, Neal. _April_. Spring. We're supposed to have flowers blooming and birds singing. Not...not _this_." He waved at the snow-covered street. 

"Well, someone is grumpy this morning." Neal didn't seem fazed by Peter's mood though. "So anyway. Get dressed. Daylight's burning."

"Get dressed?" Peter looked down at the pajama bottoms and the ratty tee shirt he was wearing. "I _am_ dressed. Why would I want to dress in anything else?"

"Because you're going to want retaliation for this." Before Peter could ask what "this" was, Neal grabbed the collar of Peter's tee shirt, pulled it away from the neck and shoved a big, wet, slushy snowball down the opening.

Peter shrieked and shook himself, trying to get as much of the snow out of his tee shirt as possible. He glared at Neal, who was doubled over laughing. "Oh, you are so on," he growled, grabbing his winter coat and shoving his naked feet into his boots.

A second later, a snowball fight was in full swing.

There was no traffic at this early hour, and they grabbed as much snow from the sidewalks and the street as possible to stock up on snowballs. Parked cars and trees were perfect cover for sneaky attacks.

Before long, neighborhood kids were joining Peter and Neal, and the snowball fight turned into a full-fledged battle. While Peter was leading his troops with strategy, Neal opted for cunning.

When the flurries finally stopped falling and the sun came out, shining brightly enough to melt the snow, Peter and Neal decided to call a truce. The neighborhood kids walked back home, chatting excitedly and laughing happily.

Peter looked at Neal, whose coat was thoroughly drenched. He wasn't faring much better. "Hot shower?" he offered. "Before you catch pneumonia."

"Sounds good." They began walking up the stairs leading to the front door. "Just to be clear... We're talking about sharing a hot shower, right?"

Peter shot him a look. "Do you seriously have to ask?"

Neal's answering grin was blinding.

THE END


End file.
